


Breathe Deeply

by Shelligator



Category: Green Eggs and Ham (Cartoon)
Genre: Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Rescue, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:34:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21749809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shelligator/pseuds/Shelligator
Summary: As the sinking ferry pulls Sam and Guy ever downwards into the icy depths of the bay, the pair do all that they can to stay together to the bitter end, their lungs aching with the need to breathe. And it's beneath the murky surface that Guy surprises his bud with a gesture quite unexpected.Some juicy romance, rescue, drowning and near character death. And the water is dark enough that who can say this didn't actually happen.
Relationships: Guy Am I & Sam I Am (Green Eggs and Ham)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 140





	Breathe Deeply

“Snuzzle me, Guy! One last time before we die! Never let go!”

The words seem terribly melodramatic, even to him. That is, until Sam says goodbye to the sun with one last, hurried breath. As the ferry sinks beneath the waves beneath them the ocean rushes up to swallow the pair greedily, and the tiny Who has to resist the urge to scream as the sinking ship drags them down with sudden, alarming speed. 

Down into the cold, inky black.

And just like that, Sam and Guy are drowning. The turbulent water churns them, pulling them ever downwards and throwing them this way and that like they were nothing more than wayward rags in a storm. The seascape spins till neither can tell which way is up or down, and all they have to ground themselves is their grip on one another. Frantic hands make desperate grabs for fur, and Guy latches on to hold Sam in a vice-like grip, and Sam returns it with a white-knuckled grip of his own, clinging desperately.

They were really going to die this time. It was so, _so_ cold.

Sam’s tiny body feels terribly insignificant compared to the monstrous strength of the ship’s pull beneath them, and he feels panic bloom in his burning chest as it tries with all its ferocious might to pry him from Guy’s grasp. He feels the knox’s hold slip and falter, and Sam screams behind tightly pressed lips as they’re almost torn asunder.

_Don’t let go! Oh god, please! Guy! **Guy!**_

Sam’s spent his whole life alone. He can’t bear to die alone, too.

But before the ocean can whisk him away into the gloom below Guy’s arms lock around him, enveloping him in an iron grip that crushes Sam’s small, trembling form to his own. Guy’s shaking too, eyes white with terror before they screw tightly shut. The two press their faces together, closing their eyes against the chaos as debris hurtles by them, leaving bubbling trails that miss them by a hair’s breadth.

Nuzzling his face into Guy’s fluffy cheek, Sam finally feels the slightest hint of warmth in all this cold, in all this terror. Somehow, in Guy’s steadfast embrace, he’s a little less afraid. He wants to stay in his arms forever.

Not like they have forever. He should have talked less, should have taken a deeper breath before he went under. His lungs howl at him in protest, tight in his chest, and he sees lights burn against his closed eyelids. It feels like his lungs are going to collapse.

Not much longer now until he’ll feel nothing at all.

The collision of the ship and the ocean floor comes suddenly, with a resounding thud somewhere in the darkness beneath them, and the two flinch against the mournful wail of buckling steel and bursting rivets. The current desperately pulls them down for another terrifying moment, until finally, the water goes eerily still, the icy blue expanse of ocean as silent as the grave as the torrent relinquishes them with careless abandon.

Sam barely registers as Guy’s grip on him loosens, just about making out his face as Guy pulls back to cast frantic glances this way and that. The world is nothing but a dense, inky blue, no up or down, and even if they knew the way, how deep are they now? The surface may as well be the frontier of a distant galaxy a lifetime away.

Sam doesn’t have a lifetime. He has seconds now. Seconds that seem to slow down as that pressure in his lungs reaches a fiery crescendo, and darkness starts to creep in at the edge of his vision.

He needs to breathe. It takes everything he has to resist the urge to take in a gasping breath of saltwater.

_Guy…_

When Guy’s gaze meets his own again, Sam wishes more than anything he could have told his bud everything. He wishes he could have made all Guy’s dreams come true. 

He wishes Guy would love himself as much as Sam loves him.

It makes his heart ache, all the pain he sees in Guy’s eyes, the burden of his sorrow, the self loathing. All Sam wants is his happiness, even above his own. What he’d give to see him smile, just one last time. That smile could light up Sam’s gloomy, heartbreakingly lonely world, no matter how small it was.

The thought of that alone puts a dreamy smile on Sam’s face as his grip on Guy goes slack, his fingers numb from the cold. He hopes Guy can see it in his eyes, see the love there, see the warmth that flowers in Sam’s chest, competing with the pain of his dying lungs.

But Guy doesn’t smile back. The knox grabs at Sam’s wrists, searching his face desperately, pulling him closer to him. He shakes his head quickly, but Sam can only shrug, his vision blurring.

_I’m sorry bud… I’m sorry I lied to you… I’m sorry life wasn’t kinder to you… I’m sorry about Mr Jenkins…_

A single bubble of air pries itself free of Sam’s sealed lips, and Sam can just about make out the muffled groan of chagrin and protest that rumbles in Guy’s chest, his eyes pleading, his hands coming up to grip Sam’s cheek and shoulder as more bubbles escape him.

For a moment, Sam’s eyes watch the bubbles dance and rise, his eyelids heavy. So that’s the way up.

His lungs finally protest too much, and it’s with a rush that the air escapes the sunny yellow convict, air bursting from his mouth and into Guy’s panicked face. Sam watches them go, watches the tiny ones brush through waves of drifting white and autumn fur. Reflexively, his muscles prepare to drag in his dying breath.

_I’m sorry, mom…_

It’s then, with all the conviction of a star crossed lover, that Guy leans in to claim Sam’s lips with his own, his eyes closing as he pulls Sam’s body against his again. His lips press and pry apart Sam’s, and Sam’s eyes flash open wide, suddenly very much awake.

His lips are so soft. Sam sees stars as his whole face lights up crimson, the pain in his chest paling in comparison to the happiness and exultation that warms him to his core, and a whimper escapes him, muffled by the press of Guy’s mouth to his own. Butterflies explode into life in his stomach and threaten to rise up in his throat, making his head spin.

It’s enough to take his breath away. If he had any, that is. 

But then Guy gives him his, in a wash of warm, life giving air.

The realization of what’s happening hits Sam like a brick as Guy’s last breath fills his lungs, chasing away the agonizing heat and cold. A few bubbles accidentally slip free to dance to the surface, only for Guy to lock their mouths together more firmly, pressing Sam’s face against his own. Sam’s eyes flutter closed, his body melting languidly against his.  
/  
_What’s a Sam to do with a Guy like you… I love you, I love you, **I love you.**_

It feels too soon when Guy’s lips leave his, and Sam shakes himself back to reality, taking in Guy’s frantic, meaningful glance to the surface. His large hands grab at him and pull him onto his back, and Sam has no choice but to hold on to his ruff as they both start to kick and claw their way to the surface. 

It doesn’t go unnoticed to Sam when Guy’s movements become more sluggish, his face scrunched up with the effort of holding his breath. It’s horrible to watch, and the little man cries out behind his tightly sealed lips, searching desperately for something, anything, to help his beloved friend.

He wasn’t going to lose him now. Not after he’d saved him again. Not after all they’d been through. Sam can still feel his lips tingling with the memory of Guy’s warm mouth on his, and his heart throbs with all-consuming longing.

_I’m here bud, I’ve got this, I’m not giving up again! Just watch me._

And then it hits him. Literally. Guy’s briefcase, rising from beneath them as it makes its journey to the surface. It carries an eye patch along with it, the sad clothing article caught on the latch. Sam grabs at it reflexively, channeling his inner Furry Foot Bandit.

_Gotcha!_

Small yellow hands make a grab for the case, and he thrusts it beneath Guy in a desperate bid to help them rise to the surface. The unremarkable attaché pulls them along painfully slowly, but with some determined kicks and paddles of limbs, Sam swears he can see the sun glinting off the ocean above them.

Good thing too, as his lungs have started screaming with renewed vengeance, and he doesn’t dwell on how slow Guy’s movements have become, how he slips off the case and flails weakly in an attempt to follow it as it bobs up to breach and disturb the sea’s glassy surface. Sam keeps close behind them, swimming with all the strength his spindly limbs will allow.

So close now, so close. Sam’s lungs threaten to burst again, and the air spills from his lips in relief as Guy finally claws his way into daylight above him.

_Thank god._

Their arrival is anything but graceful. The two men latch onto the case like the drowning men they are, gasping for that sweet fresh air, their lungs and eyes burning. They cough and splutter, spitting up water, and Sam clings to Guy’s back, throwing his head back as he holds onto him.

“**We’re alive!**”

“Urgh…” comes Guy’s spluttered, broken reply, but Sam is too relieved to care, turning his smiling face up to the sun.

But with the sun on his face and air in his lungs, the realization of what they’d just done quickly dawns on him, making his head spin and his stomach do panicked back flips.

Guy had shared his air with him. Lips, touching, hands clinging. Sam thought Guy was kissing him. He’d _whimpered_.

** _Shit._ **

Before Guy can grab even a second longer to recover, or dwell on their recent ordeal and the moment they’d shared, Sam clambers up along his frame and onto his back. With all the theatrics he can muster, he thrusts his hand out, putting on his best performance yet. And to his relief, Guy starts weakly paddling, too shaken to argue.

“Onward me bucko, _for Jenkins!_”


End file.
